


The Smallest Act of Comfort

by Isilarma



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (2014)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Peter Can Be Perceptive When He Wants To Be, Protective Drax, Protective Gamora, Protective Peter, Rocket Has Issues, Team Bonding, Understandably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-08-06
Packaged: 2018-02-12 01:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2090385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isilarma/pseuds/Isilarma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter and the other Guardians know that Rocket does not like to be touched. Other people aren't as smart as them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Smallest Act of Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Tenebrielle, Red Tigress and Red Bess Rackham for the beta.
> 
> Warning: Some bad language. Rocket and Quill have potty mouths.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing.

Peter’s always been a tactile kind of guy. Mom and his grandpa were never afraid to give him a hug when he wanted one, or whenever they felt like it, and some things just stick with you, even when you are on the other side of the galaxy.

Things were a little bit different with the Ravagers. Yondu wasn’t exactly the hugging type, but he did take the time to make Peter feel welcome in his own way, and pats on the back, or ruffles of his hair came often enough. The Ravagers in general were a friendly enough bunch, once they agreed not to eat him, and most of them were happy enough to play with a scared kid now and then. Between Yondu’s quiet affection and the rough and tumble life on board a Ravager ship, Peter was never starved of attention. 

So he finds it perfectly natural to clap Drax on the back after a successful mission, or after he gets a metaphor. He has no qualms about pulling Gamora up for a dance, once she relaxes enough not to automatically draw a knife on him. He also finds that Groot makes a very comfortable leaning post, and from the way Groot chuckles when he does so, Peter guesses he doesn’t mind either. Peter likes that. They’re his friends, and Peter’s always gone in for physical contact with his friends.

Except Rocket. Rocket does not get touched. Ever.

See, Peter knows he’s an asshole, but he isn’t an idiot. And, as he told the Nova Corps, he isn’t 100% a dick. Rocket gave quite enough away the first time he got drunk, and though he’s never referred to it again, neither Peter, nor any of the others will forget. He might be an animal, but he’s an intelligent animal. A person. You pet pets, you do not pet people. So Peter doesn’t. Neither do Gamora or Drax. The only person who can just about get away with it is Groot, and even then under extreme circumstances. None of them mind. They get it, and Rocket’s fine at showing affection in his own way. 

Other people aren’t quite as smart as them.

They’re at a bar when it happens. Peter picked it, and he’s beginning to understand why Gamora’s so reluctant to let him choose where they go because something always seems to happen and the galaxy isn’t quite big enough that eight times in two months can be seen as a coincidence. There are probably some other factors, like the fact that his crew involves a homicidal gun-toting raccoon-type guy, a galaxy renowned assassin, someone incapable of taking a joke, and, well, him, but the bar probably plays a part too.

It’s a normal evening. Drax is gambling, Rocket’s drinking, and judging from the look Gamora’s giving him, Peter’s not too close to the sober line himself. Groot’s back at the ship; he’s out of the pot now, but he’s still not really up for stuff like this. Peter’s really looking forward to the time when he is, babysitting Rocket is a hell of a lot less fun than Groot made it look, and Peter sucks at it.

“Get the hell away from me!”

Correction. He really, really sucks at it.

“S’cuse me, coming through, need to stop a murder...”

Peter’s beginning to wish he’d followed Gamora’s advice and stuck to a quiet night. If it isn’t him, it’s Drax, and if it isn’t Drax, it’s Rocket, and actually that’s wrong, it’s usually Rocket and that really isn’t what he should be concentrating on. He pushes through the crowd and finally catches sight of Rocket.

“What the hell gives you the right to go around stroking people?” Oh crap. “What the fuck is wrong with you, you stuck up Badoon bastard!” 

Peter curses. There’s a half empty glass by Rocket’s elbow, but his words are sharp and his eyes clear. He’s definitely not drunk. Considering the fact that the enormous gun he’s holding is rock steady, that's really not a good thing. He catches sight of Gamora on the other side of the room, and sees she’s had the same thought, but a crowded bar is a really sucky place to move through fast, even for someone with Gamora’s rep. 

Fortunately, they’re not the only ones around. Rocket lets out a ferocious snarl as Drax positions himself between the gun and the cringing patrons. "Get out of my way!"

“Not until you put the gun down, my friend.”

“She stroked me!” Rocket snarls. “I’m gonna blow her hands off, let’s see if she can go round stroking people then – Hey!”

Drax smiles down at him as he studies the gun. “This is a good choice of weapon. Not as satisfying as a blade, but quite efficient.”

Rocket lets out a low growl, but turns away. Peter lets out a breath and closes his eyes for a moment. Crisis averted.

“What is that animal? And how dare it try to threaten us?”

Peter freezes. Surely no one is that stupid. Rocket looks round ever so slowly. “Say that again.”

“I do not think-” Drax begins, but Badoon are evidently a hell of a lot braver when they don’t have guns pointing in their faces. The woman draws herself up, a disgusted sneer on her face as she stares down at Rocket.

“You should keep your pets under control,” she snaps. “And train them to treat their betters with some respect.” She pauses for breath, but her eyes widen as Rocket launches himself at her with an incoherent roar that wouldn't be that out of place coming from a tiger.

Luckily the crowd has thinned out a bit. Guns being waved around tends to do that. In this case it means Peter’s able to sprint forward and catch Rocket out of midair before he tears the moron into pieces. Not that Peter particularly cares about the moron, but he did promise the Nova Corps he’d at least try to keep his friends out of trouble. 

Then he realises that keeping Rocket out of trouble means holding onto Rocket. Well, it’s not really Rocket at the moment; it's, more like a furry tornado with claws and fangs. “Hey, hey, hey, will you stop-”

“Gonna kill them!”

“And I wouldn’t blame you, but we’re really not supposed to do that-”

“I don’t care! I’m gonna tear them to pieces!”

Peter casts a look round to find out why the hell Drax isn’t helping, because he really needs some help. Then he realises that Drax is busy throttling the woman who started all the trouble.

“Nobody talks to my friends like that.”

Peter should probably intervene. It would be the responsible thing to do, an he did kind of promise that he would. On the other hand, he doesn’t want to. He looks round for the other one. He’s not being throttled. Gamora prefers knives to brute force. She catches Peter’s eye and jerks her head towards the door. Peter nods, and somehow manages to get Rocket out into the street.

“Let me go, Quill!”

“No need to tell me twice!” He sets Rocket on the ground a little harder than necessary, but his hands are covered in scratches and he’s not feeling particularly charitable. Rocket shakes himself and glares up at him.

“What the fuck, Quill!”

“Oh, excuse me for stopping you getting arrested,” Peter shoots back. “You could’ve – What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Rocket doesn’t look back. “I told you, I’m gonna blow off their hands and tear them into pieces, and Quill, get the sprock out of my way!”

“No,” said Peter firmly. “I know you’re angry-”

“You think?”

“And you have every right to be,” said Peter loudly. “But Drax and Gamora are handling it.”

Rocket bares his teeth. “It’s my business, not theirs.”

“Dude, you’re our friend. That makes it our business.”

“No, it’s not, because you don’t get it,” Rocket snarls. “None of you do.” His tail lashes to one side as he turns away. “I’m going back to the ship.”

Letting Rocket go off on his own, in a bad mood, in this area... “Great, I’ll come with you.”

“Quill...”

“So, you got any bounties lined up?” Rocket looks tempted to bite him, and Peter has to resist the urge to take a step away. “Or we’ll just walk in silence. That’s fun too.”

Rocket mutters something Peter can’t quite make out under his breath, but stalks off in the vague direction of the ship. Peter blows out a long breath. He could have helped Gamora beat up a bigoted idiot, but no, he has to be responsible and look after their friend, who’s angry, and probably upset, and who really needs him.

And who has disappeared.

“Crap.” Gamora’s gonna kill him. If Groot doesn’t get there first, that is. “Rocket!”

“Keep up, you jerkass!”

Peter darts through the crowd until he spots a familiar pair of ears. Thankfully, short legs aren’t great for getting away fast. Rocket doesn’t look at him as he catches up, but Peter’s not an idiot. Rocket’s ears are nearly flat against his head, and he’s practically radiating fury. Peter considers saying nothing and leaving it for Groot to sort out. It’s probably what Rocket would be happier with. It would be the sensible thing to do.

“So, you wanna talk about it?”

No one’s ever accused Peter of being sensible. Rocket just glares at the floor. “No.”

“You sure?”

“Does no mean something different on Terra, Quill?”

Peter sighs. “Oh, come on, man. You can’t take this personally.”

“How would you like it if someone came and stroked your head and neck?” Rocket demands.

Peter tilts his head to one side. “Are they cute? Never mind,” he adds quickly, as Rocket glares at him. “Look, I’d hate it. I’d probably want to shoot them too-”

“Blow them to pieces.”

“Yeah. That too. But you can’t let two pathetic shits like that get to you.”

“But it’s not just two, is it?” Rocket snarls. “It’s all the time.” His expression crumples, but the lapse lasts barely a second before he’s glaring at Peter again. “So don’t you dare give me that crap about how I shouldn’t take it personally, or how I should just get over it, because I shouldn’t have to!” He slumps down just inside the nearest alleyway, his eyes harder than Peter has ever seen them. “I shouldn’t have to.”

Peter has never felt so out of his depth in his entire life. There is literally nothing he can say to make this better. But he hasn’t seen Rocket this bad since he thought Groot had died, and Peter can’t bear to see it again. So he slides down the wall to sit beside Rocket, just enough away that there’s no contact between them and sighs.

“No,” he agrees quietly. “You shouldn’t. I’m sorry, dude; the galaxy’s full of assholes. Always has been, always will be, and I’m sorry, but you can’t shoot them all.” A growl rumbles in Rocket’s throat, and Peter continues quickly: “’Cause if you shot them all, who would I shoot? Who would Drax choke, or Gamora slice into little pieces? Who would Groot impale with extreme prejudice and use to squish all the other assholes? Come on, man, you’ve gotta be fair about this.”

He doesn’t really expect a reply. Maybe a smirk, if he’s lucky. But Rocket continues to stare at the opposite wall, and his expression doesn’t so much as twitch. Peter lets his head fall back against the wall. He really should have left this to Groot.

Then he realises that something has changed. That the warmth he’s feeling on one arm isn’t because the temperature regulators in this starport are really messed up. Peter glances sideways. Every muscle in Rocket’s body has tensed, as if he’s expecting Peter to draw away, or worse, and the sight makes Peter sick to his stomach. If he ever finds out who was responsible for this...

It’s probably the anger that does it. He has a tendency to do stupid stuff when he’s angry. Or so he’s been told. And this time Peter knows very, very well that he’s taking a risk. Rocket nearly killed someone for doing this exact thing not ten minutes ago. But Peter’s never been afraid to take risks, and this seems like one that just might be worth it. Slowly, giving Rocket every chance to move away, he reaches out and touches the soft fur between Rocket’s ears.

“Before you say anything, or try to claw my eyes out, we do this back home, and on a lot of other planets, to comfort the people we care about,” he says quietly, and if he puts a little emphasis on the word people, well, that’s no one’s business but his. Maybe it won’t be enough, but he has to try.

Sure enough, Rocket still tenses, and Peter freezes. He’s ready to draw away the moment Rocket’s teeth show, he has quite enough scratches to be getting on with thank you. But Rocket doesn’t move, and he doesn’t start biting, and Peter knows that’s the closest to consent he’d ever going to get. Gently, very gently, he starts small, smooth motions. Rocket says nothing, doesn’t even look at him, but he leans into Peter even more and that speaks more eloquently than words ever could.

Peter knows it’s not enough. He doubts anything will ever be. But it’s a start. Maybe in the future, Rocket will let them do more. Maybe one day they’ll work out what they can do.

For now, Peter is content to watch the stars, and offer what little comfort he can.


End file.
